Happiness or Hands that give life
by mcgonnagle
Summary: Edward Elric reflects on the significance of holding hands. Post-promised day EdWin oneshot


**_Happiness/Hands that give life_**

 _Merry Christmas y'all! And reviews are very much appreciated;)_

Holding hands was not something Edward Elric would have considered, until fairly recently, an activity worth spending as much time on as he currently did.

He could vaguely remember holding his mother's hand when they'd go to the market, his tiny hand only managing to clutch her pinky finger.

Later he'd held Al's hand of course (given his brother's affinity for cats he tended to get lost easily, and Mom had told him he had to look after his little brother).

He'd held Al's hand at their mother's funeral, though he wasn't sure who had been the one making sure the other didn't get lost.

He stopped taking Al's hand after the transmutation that landed his brother in an empty armour; after all, Al wouldn't be able to feel it, and what was the point when you were lost already?

He remembered greedily grasping for Granny's or Winry's hands after his automail surgeries, clawing his way back to walking on his own two feet so he could try and repay his debt.

But- holding someone's hand without some kind of _purpose_ to it- it felt like such an alien concept, like half of his head had just turned back to look at him incredulously and ask _„What is Edward Elric doing here?"_

Truth was, he didn't know himself.

It made no sense that holding hands should produce this feeling of frightening, jittery happiness.

And Al didn't count, he would have been happy to hold his brother's unwashed foot for that matter, because nothing could compare to seeing Al back in his body-

But. This.

Even kissing - he felt his face grow hot and scrunched up his eyebrows- even kissing, it was at least more logical that it would cause people to feel irrationally happy.

Not that he had expected this strange turn of events that had resulted in him being kissed by Winry twice and- well, one and a half times him kissing her.

And it was, it truly was the most weirdly marvelous thing he'd ever felt, like he could sense every single erythrocyte hurdling through his bloodstream to finally get some oxygen to his brain, and his mind was at once full of equations trying to describe what the hell was happening here and completely blank-

But that made _sense_. Well, kind of. People got excited over kissing all the time.

It made no sense whatsoever though, that he should get this odd fluttery feeling in his chest just from holding her hand.

They were sitting out on the porch- or well, they had been sitting in the beginning, by now his legs were stretched out to the point that Granny would consider „slouching", and Winry was leaning against his side, her head curled into his right shoulder.

Two cups of tea were sitting on the small table nearby, untouched and probably cold now. He couldn't really bring himself to care.

Winry, the stupid nerd, had pulled three all-nighters to rebuild a whole arm for a client in Rush Valley. Where she'd be going tomorrow morning for reattachment.

He was aware it might sound a _little_ bit hypocritical coming from him, but he couldn't help but feel angry at that guy for managing to ruin her entire arm. Like besides fighting homunculi, was there really any acceptable explanation for getting _all_ of the arm destroyed?

Anyway. After finally agreeing to take a break now that her project was finished, she'd fallen asleep in less than five minutes.

Her hair was sticking up at odd angles from being pushed under her bandana so long, she smelled of machine grease and that rose soap Lieutenant Hawkeye had sent her last month (apparently that was a thing they did?), her left hand in his, and he had the inexplicable urge to stop time right now so that he might find out what exactly made this moment so- perfect.

He could feel the callus on the outside of her index finger, from holding the tweezers, and he knew he'd find a similar one on the middle finger of her right hand, from holding pens and screwdrivers, just like she would know that scar on his left hand, from when he'd nearly taken off a finger with Granny's bread knife.

And- well there were a lot more scars on his side, but point was, he was here, wasn't he? He'd come home. They'd all come home.

He pushed some of Winry's hair behind her ear with his free hand, and interlaced his fingers with hers once again.

If he were to spend a lifetime holding hands with Winry Rockbell- honestly,it didn't sound so bad.


End file.
